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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099919">Uncanny Valley</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid'>dralexreid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dr Piper Bishop [45]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Disturbing Themes, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 04:21:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The BAU team has to deal with a strange case in Atlantic City; Piper struggles to get back into her stride.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dr Piper Bishop [45]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Uncanny Valley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can take more time, Pipes,” Spencer pleaded as Piper shovelled clothes into her duffel.</p><p>“It’s almost been a month Spence, I love you, but if I have to spend another day in this apartment, I am going to go insane,” she retorted with a quick kiss to Spencer’s cheek as she made her way to their shared wardrobe. Spencer’s shoulders sagged as he heaved a sigh.</p><p>“You haven’t been sleeping, Piper.” She scoffed, her head still inside the wardrobe, searching for her jumper.</p><p>“Right. ‘Cause we’ve all been getting such quality beauty sleep.” Her voice was muffled, but her sardonic tone was as sharp as ever. Their phones buzzed consecutively, Spencer getting a message from JJ and Piper getting a message from Daniel. “He’s downstairs,” she reported.</p><p>“And JJ just told me the briefing’s gonna take a while.” He sighed at her raised eyebrows before handing her the phone.</p><p>“Cool, I’ve got time to take Daniel around DC before we have to go in. Perfect.” She tossed Spencer his cell before shoving her last article of clothing inside, kissing Spencer swiftly before dashing out to meet Daniel. Spencer sighed, just shrugging.</p><hr/><p>The team had the morning off. Daniel had visited from Maine on a work trip and Piper was introducing him to DC. Penelope was taking time to see Kevin and have a brunch date; which Spencer never really understood the point of. That was until Piper explained that it was for people were too lazy to meet up for breakfast and Penelope had hit her over the head. Derek was helping Emily redecorate her apartment while JJ and Hotch were spending time with their kids. Rossi was probably asleep or drunk, according to Hotch. Spencer had taken the time to visit a place he hadn't been to in a while. He sat on a park bench with multiple books ranging from the technical elements of poetry to inter-planetary collision, his cane resting gently against the bench while an old friend played chess behind him. "I see checkmate in 5. What do you see?" Spencer looked up from his book to examine the chessboard.</p><p>"I see it in 3," he answered before returning to his book.</p><p>"We've missed you out here," Chris said, returning to his game.</p><p>"Thank you. Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break."</p><p>"How come?"</p><p>"I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine," Spencer told him, his gaze fixed on his book without focusing on the words. "He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore."</p><p>"So, you gave up, too?"</p><p>"Just the opposite. I attempted to play through every permutation of moves on a chessboard."</p><p>That's an infinite number of games."</p><p>"It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large," he corrected him.</p><p>"You couldn't have played through them all."</p><p>"There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, and I'll tell you something- the more I played, the more I realized that every single match, every single chess game, is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. It's aggressive opening, patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, and I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the exact same patterns and expecting a different outcome."</p><p>"So you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head," his friend said as Spencer's cell buzzed, "and you're just sitting on it?"</p><p>"I still use it," Spencer admitted, looking up. "I just, uh... I apply it differently." He read the text fully before slowly getting up, taking his pile of books with him. "I have to go. It was good seeing you."</p><hr/><p>By the time he arrived, everyone still looked slightly relaxed as though they were waiting for an announcement. He walked over to Emily who was perched on Derek's desk gazing forlornly at the kitchen. "You know, they fixed the coffee machine," he announced to Emily, waking her up from her trance.</p><p>"Oh, she's not interested in coffee. Far too invested in tall glasses of water." Spencer gave Derek a puzzled look until he pointed to the handsome man with Piper in the kitchen. Spencer snorted.</p><p>"You think he remembers me?" Emily asked mournfully as the man tried to fix her hair except Piper slapped him away. Derek grabbed his empty mug.</p><p>"Let's find out." He sauntered over, leaning an elbow on Piper's shoulder as he waved to Daniel. Spencer brushed past Piper to the coffee machine. "Hey, angel."</p><p>"Jesus, Derek," Piper said, ducking under him. "Danny, meet SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss and Dr Spencer Reid." Danny smiled widely at the three agents.</p><p>"We've met. Back when uh..." The conversation wavered until Derek recovered, holding his hand out. Daniel shook both Derek and Emily's hands and waving at Spencer.</p><p>"It's great to see you again, Daniel," Emily smiled broadly, tucking a strand behind her hair.</p><p>"Please, Dan's just fine."</p><p>"Okay," Emily beamed at him and Daniel looked awkwardly at Piper.</p><p>"Actually, Emily's a huge Kurt Vonnegut fan. Remember how much you loved Slaughterhouse 5?"</p><p>"Oh, no way. Kilgore Trout was my idol growing up."</p><p>"Really? I got hooked on them when I was like 12 and just kept going." Piper sipped her coffee, not fully understanding what hell she'd created. "What's your favourite?"</p><p>"Mother Night obviously."</p><p>"The one about the American spy-"</p><p>"Who pretends to be a Nazi, yeah. I think I re-read it like 4 times.</p><p>"You are who you pretend to be," Emily said, pulling her best German accent, which was pretty good considering she spoke German.</p><p>"So be careful who you pretend to be. Those lines were killer. I wish I could write that well." Piper's face grew confused as she looked between the beaming faces of her brother and best friend. "Man, it was nice meeting you, Emily," he said as he pulled out his cell.</p><p>"Ugh, is that Martin?" Piper peeked over his shoulder. "Is he still pissed you stole that arsonist case from under his nose?"</p><p>"Yep. Made it to general legal secretary."</p><p>"He went to management?" Piper's face contorted and Emily laughed.</p><p>"Jeez, you haven't made a face that sour since you got shot," Emily joked, wincing inwardly as the humour leeched from their faces.</p><p>"You got shot? Wha-You didn't think to tell me?" Daniel turned to Piper, ignoring Emily as he interrogated his older sister. Her voice jumped 3 octaves.</p><p>"Technically, but-but it was a long time ago."</p><p>"How long?" Piper coughed a number into her mouth. "Pip, how long?"</p><p>"A year," she winced.</p><p>"A-" Daniel faltered. "Are you okay?" he managed to get out.</p><p>"Yes, I am fine, my shoulder is fine, my therapist says I'm fine, my boss-"</p><p>"Ok, okay. Got it. You're fine." Daniel sighed. "Just tell me if there's a next time." He winced as his cell buzzed again and malicious joy entered Piper's face as she snatched it.</p><p>"Hey, Eva. What's up?... Oh, Dannybug?" Piper pulled a sickly-sweet smile at Dan. "He's right here. What happened? He in trouble?" Piper snickered as Daniel lunged and she ducked as though she'd been practising that move for years. Mock-gasping, she continued, "He was meant to call you? Ugh, that idiot."</p><p>"Piper, give it back."</p><p>"Nope," she teased as Daniel tried to run after her. "Hold on, he's right here," Piper practically yelped as she tossed the phone to him and used Emily as a shield, laughing.</p><p>"Hey, babe. Look, I am so sorry I didn't call but..." His voice trailed off as Piper laughed, clutching Emily's shoulder as he walked away, tossing an obscene gesture behind him inconspicuously. Derek and Spencer had long wandered back over to their desks.</p><p>"You seem better." Piper's laugh died on her lips as she caught Emily's soft gaze, her thumbs clinging to the hem of her pockets as she bit her lip. Emily hoped she hadn't said the wrong thing.</p><p>"I feel better." They shared a small smile before Emily swivelled her head towards JJ's voice near the conference room. "Em," she called out before the other woman could walk away. "I never thanked you." Emily flashed a rueful smile at Piper.</p><p>"There's nothing to thank. Shall we?" Emily held out her elbow and Piper grabbed it with a grin.</p><p>"As we must," she said, giggling as the pair walked past their desks and into the conference room. </p><hr/><p>“Rita Stuart, 25, our second victim in Atlantic City,” JJ started from her seat next to the screen as the others looked through their file. A young woman was sat on the merry-go-round, her hands limply held on top of her bright blue dress, pretty pearls adorning her neck.</p><p>“Pretty public spot for a dump site,” Rossi noted, casually glancing in between Spencer and Emily at Piper who was fixated on the photos.</p><p>“You know, technically, I think it would qualify more as a disposal site,” Spencer corrected. “You don't leave a body on a merry-go-round out of convenience.”</p><p>“He took some time with her appearance, didn't he?” Emily pointed at the screen with her pen as Piper snapped to attention.</p><p>“Yeah. Her nails were polished, her hair was cut, clothes were brand-new,” JJ reported.</p><p>“Wants her to look her best when found. That's a lot of remorse,” Spencer heard Derek say next to him.</p><p>“Who is victim number one?” Hotch directed and Piper silently put the photos on the victim next to each other atop her file.</p><p>“Stacia Jackson, 29,” JJ replied. “She was found at a local playground.”</p><p>“First a playground, then an amusement park. That’s got to be a connection, right?” Piper’s question was small, quiet and Rossi’s response was drowned over by the sight of the two dead women in the pictures in front of her. “When were they abducted?”</p><p>“Stacia was abducted November 11<sup>th</sup>, and Rita was abducted on the 4<sup>th</sup>. Both taken two months ago,” JJ answered, and Piper gulped at the thought of the two women paralysed for two months.</p><p>“Well, we know they’ve crossed race lines,” Derek said, “But what’s the connection between these two women?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Penelope sighed dramatically, leaning on the doorframe like she was in an 80s movie except with her laptop tucked underneath her arm. “Rita was married, Stacia was single. Rita worked at a diner, Stacia was a corporate lawyer. According to their credit cards, they never came within 10 miles of each other. I mean, they lived such completely different lives.</p><p>“The police didn't tie their abduction together until now,” JJ added as Penelope took a seat opposite Derek. “There was no evidence of violence of any kind either.”</p><p>“So how did they die?” Hotch asked.</p><p>“Rita had a stroke, Stacia had a brain haemorrhage.”</p><p>“Look at this, the unsub gave them a battery of drugs – atracurium, doxacurium. These are neural inhibitors. They block signals from the brain to the muscles.”</p><p>“He put them in medical comas for 2 months,” Emily realised, and Piper stiffened.</p><p>“Actually, they weren't in a coma. You'd need phenobarbital to keep them unconscious, and they didn't have that.”</p><p>“So, wait a minute. These victims were paralysed but they were still conscious?”</p><p>“They could open their eyes, hear, probably even feel stimulation. Physical immobility but mental awareness.”</p><p>“This unsub wants total domination over them,” Derek sighed.</p><p>“And he turns their bodies into prisons to do it,” Piper whispered, feeling Emily’s hand softly squeezing her thigh in comfort. Hotch dismissed them to the jet and Piper started slowly packing her files as the others filed out, one by one until the only one left inside with her was Penelope.</p><p>“Hey, are you okay?” Penelope’s voice filled with concern, her normally cheerful eyes went tender.</p><p>“M fine,” Piper managed through a yawn she covered with the back of her hand. She blinked a few times before continuing to grab her things and rising from her seat, Penelope mirroring her actions.</p><p>“What do I do?” Piper looked up, tired eyes flicking to hers. “How do I help?” She smiled softly before collapsing into Penelope’s arms, tucking her head into her neck. But as quickly as she’d wrapped herself around Penelope, she released her, shouldering her messenger bag and rushing out. Penelope watched as Piper’s worn-out face was replaced with vigour and humour as Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder, watched her leave with the rest of the team to get to the jet on time.</p><hr/><p>“Keeping women in a conscious paralysis reads as sadism,” Derek announced to the group in his seat next to Piper. “Definitely dehumanizing, reducing them to objects.”</p><p>“They become like ragdolls,” Piper muttered. “But there's nothing else about this profile that takes us down that path.”</p><p>“These women were found in excellent condition,” JJ countered. “There was no evidence of bedsores, they were well fed through an I.V.”</p><p>“His access to I.Vs and drugs—” Rossi mused, “He almost certainly has medical training.”</p><p>“Are we sure this is a he?” Emily asked, eyeing Piper’s third cup of coffee and glancing towards Spencer casually.</p><p>“The care this unsub shows these victims, although they are dehumanized, the profile says female,” he said, following Emily’s gaze.</p><p>“What about the post-mortem posing? That's a lot of dead weight for a woman to carry,” Rossi asked, subtly shaking his head.</p><p>“These women are petite,” JJ reported as she glanced back at them from her perch. “They're under 100 pounds.”</p><p>“All right, if we reconsider the gender of the profile, what changes?” Hotch asked the group.</p><p>“Nothing,” Derek answered. “If anything, it fits better. Men kill to fulfil a sexual compulsion. Women don't.”</p><p>“You see this in angel-of-mercy killers,” Spencer added, playing with his hands as he spoke, “like Genene Jones and Amy Archer. They didn't care about race or hair colour. It's men that do.” He glanced over at the laptop facing the team, watching as Garcia popped up on-screen.</p><p>“Garcia, what did you find out about the clothing the unsub's dressing the victims in?”</p><p>
  <em>“At first only that both garments were made from chiffon, but with the wonder twin powers of the Atlantic City Police and my impeccable eye for fashion, we have also determined that these garments fit ridiculously well. They're super flattering to each victim's exact measurements, kind of exactly like the unsub whipped them up herself.”</em>
</p><p>“Maybe that's what connects the victims,” Emily posed. “Maybe she isn't just killing petite women because they're easier to abduct and pose but because of a physical type. She wants a body type. Sewing clothes for a specific size of woman.”</p><p>“Please tell me she is not killing these women because she needs human models. I mean, there's got to be more to it than that.”</p><p>“It would make sense,” Piper noted. “The paralysis reduces them to human models and with the dressing and the pearls, it’s possible.”</p><p>“Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to interview the victims' families. Talk to them about lifestyle choices. Any body-image issues these women may have had. Reid, go to Rita Stuart's autopsy, see if the drugs point to any specific medical training the unsub might have had. Garcia, I want you to start tracking down those drugs. Dave and I will go to the disposal site. Bishop, I want you to check missing person reports for the last 2 months. See if any abductions match what we know. We need to find out if the unsub's already taken another victim.” They nodded solemnly, each committing to their own duties, as Spencer took away Piper’s cup of coffee and gave it to Emily.</p><hr/><p>Piper sat alone in their work-space, coffee cup scattered over the large table as she clicked through reports. It shouldn’t have taken more than an hour, but she kept getting side-tracked by missing reports. Women of all ages had gone missing for months. She’d never thought twice about it before, but were people looking into them? Did anyone care about them? Maybe Spencer was right, maybe she wasn’t ready for this yet. She doubled down, trying to work harder and get this done, finding it harder and harder to breathe evenly. Her breaths became shallower as she went through reports, her chest constricting through each file, finally getting up and starting to pace as she shook out her hand. “C’mon Piper,” she muttered to herself. “Not now, not here.” She stopped, looking up at the ceiling, her back to the windows. “100…96…85…no, no, that’s not right.” She shook herself out, closing her eyes as she tried again. “100…98…96…84…62…50.” She opened her eyes, hand still shaking, oblivious to Morgan walking in. “Shit,” she whispered. “Ten things, okay… umm… laptop, table, chair, files.” She grunted quietly, scrunching her eyes closed as she struggled to breathe, tears streaming out from beneath. Arthur had been missing for days, she remembered instinctively, and she’d never even noticed. She kept them shut until she felt two strong hands pull her into a seat.</p><p>“Hey, you know what’s fun? Naming my annoying habits. You go first,” he prompted her. “It should be easy, everything annoys you.” She stared at the ceiling as she stammered.</p><p>“Umm… you always staple the wrong side of the files.” Derek laughed.</p><p>“Go on, I know there’s more. C’mon angel, what you got?”</p><p>“Your nicknames are really annoying,” she managed quietly, keeping eye contact with him. “And uh, you always lose my pens. You wear way too much cologne, you’re always cracking your joints when I’m trying to work, and when I tell you to stop, you keep going and—”</p><p>“Okay, okay, Jesus, and for the record, I’ve only lost 5 pens.”</p><p>“That’s 3 more than Emily and 2 more than JJ.” Derek shrugged at the small smile Piper managed.</p><p>“You gonna be okay?” Piper nodded and Derek rose to grab the coffee, except the pot was empty. “I swear this was full when we set up.” Piper simply smirked sheepishly as Derek glanced over the cups of coffee before turning back to her reports.</p><p>“So, you find anything?” Piper mustered.</p><p>“Well, the clothes aren’t really their style. Stacia focused on high-end boutiques, but Rita was always at consignments and thrift shops.” Piper leaned back in her seat, mulling it over.</p><p>“Completely different lives.”</p><p>“Yeah, Emily’s checking out tailors. You need any help?”</p><p>“No, I’m good. Go help Emily. I should have this done in a…” Piper trailed off, leaning forward into her screen.</p><p>“What is it?” Piper didn’t answer, just grabbing her cell and dialling Hotch.</p><p>“Hey, boss, it’s me and Derek, I found something. Cindy Edmundson was abducted outside a thrift store, and Maxine Wynan was last seen at the Hillridge Mall. That sound like our girl?”</p><p>“<em>Alright, run it through Garcia. Listen, we may have found something too. The disposal sites are linked. She's posing her victims in a place that represents innocence and childhood. Most serial killers don't have a particularly happy childhood.”</em></p><p>“She wants them to have the fun she never got to have. She’s got to be projecting her own childhood into them like…” Piper trailed off again, but she was too lost in thought to answer.</p><p>“Anything else?” Derek said.</p><p>“<em>Yeah, she has a vehicle with handicap registration. It’s the only feasible method of transporting the body.”</em> Piper snapped to attention at Rossi’s voice.</p><p>“Wait, sir, before you go, one last thing.”</p><p>“<em>What’s up?”</em></p><p>“The dates. She holds onto them for two months, lets them go a week after she abducts two new victims.”</p><p><em>“She doesn't let a body go until she has a replacement. Good job, guys.”</em> Piper sighed as Derek switched the cell off. She waved Derek off as he told her he’d check on her later before he left to relay the news to Emily. Piper tapped her foot for a minute before moving to dial Spencer.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>
  <em>“Hey yourself. Listen up. The training to lift and move bodies, universal to caregivers. Also, there are too many drugs to be manipulated. She’s got to have constant access to them.”</em>
</p><p>“But these drugs are too specific to be in an ordinary hospital. Most hospitals only have general anaesthesia. That might help Garcia narrow it down. Anything else?”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, yeah. So, we know this unsub is stuck in a rich fantasy, right?”</em>
</p><p>“An incredibly detailed delusion,” Piper scoffed.</p><p>
  <em>“Right. We don't know what the delusion is, but we know that it involves remaking these women, and it begins the moment she has them drugged.”</em>
</p><p>“But is she has them paralysed and she can do whatever she wants, why is she killing them?”</p><p>
  <em>“Well, I don't think she means to. The brain is a machine designed to respond to stimuli. If you keep the brain awake but the body immobile, it breaks down, loses its hair. After 2 months, it eventually strokes out.”</em>
</p><p>“So, death isn't this unsub's goal, It's an unfortunate side effect.”</p><p>“<em>Exactly</em>.” Piper just sighed. “<em>You okay?”</em></p><p>“Yeah,” she admitted. “I mean, I think it happened again, but I’m fine now.”</p><p>
  <em>“See, I told—"</em>
</p><p>“If you say I told you so, I will exile you to the couch when we get back. Look, I’m fine now. Derek was here, we managed it.” She combed her fingers through the small knots in her hair. “You heading back now?”</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, just getting into the car.”</em>
</p><p>“Alright. Be safe. Love you.”</p><p><em>“You too.”</em> The line clicked and Piper let out a shaky sigh, wrinkling her eyebrows in thought. Hospitals only had general anaesthesia; she’d said. Spencer had mentioned chemicals that she hadn’t quite been able to place. Atracurium. Doxacurium. Rapidly, she dialled Penelope, pacing as she waited for her friend to pick up.</p><p>“Red.”</p><p>“<em>Hey, something up?”</em></p><p>“Yeah. I need the names of those chemicals.”</p><p>“<em>Oh. Atracurium and—”</em></p><p>“No, I mean the brand names. What would they be sold as?”</p><p><em>“Oh, sorry. Hold on.” </em>Piper heard the rapid slamming of keys before Penelope’s voice came through again<em>. “Okay, atracurium is sold as Tracrium and doxacurium is sold as Nuromax.”</em></p><p>“Wait, you said Nuromax?”</p><p>
  <em>“Yep. What’s up?”</em>
</p><p>“It’s a commonly used anaesthesia for mental health and seizure patients.”</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, that’s probably why I can’t track the chemicals. Hey, everything okay?”</em>
</p><p>“Yes.” Penelope heard the line click and sighed before continuing to cross off hospitals and mental health clinics.</p><hr/><p>The group gathered in the room, surrounding empty boxes of food. “Both Rita Stuart and Stacia Jackson were clothes hounds, but because they were petite women, they had a lot of their stuff altered,” Emily reported.</p><p>“Could be how our unsub is finding her victims. She gets her hands on their measurements,” Rossi noted.</p><p>“But we already exhausted tailors, alteration shops. There's no overlap,” JJ added.</p><p>“The tailors might send specialty items out to third parties,” Hotch thought aloud. “Dig deep into extended employment records and see who they might be subcontracting to.” As he finished, a detective walked in, reporting the appearance of another victim. Emily and JJ looked into tailors while Spencer, Derek and Piper took the new body as Hotch and Rossi combed through new missing person reports.</p><p>The trio stepped forward to the park bench. Piper’s eyebrows wrinkled as she pulled on her gloves to move over to her hair. “Guys, these aren’t extensions. This is a wig.”</p><p>“That’s weird,” Derek noted.</p><p>“Must be Kanekalon,” Spencer murmured next to them before glancing at their puzzled expressions. “Uh, synthetic hair.”</p><p>“It’s not the weirdest part,” Piper muttered as she lifted the wig just high enough to see the stitches. “That look familiar?”</p><p>“So? She sewed it in.” Spencer said and Derek took a step back as he realised.</p><p>“She’s taking sets of dolls.”</p><p>“We need to get this profile out now.”</p><hr/><p>“The unsub we're looking for is a woman,” Hotch announced. “She's a collector. It's psychopathology similar to hoarding.”</p><p>“So, when we say collector,” Rossi continued. “We're not talking about stamps or baseball cards. It's not what your kids, or even you, might pursue as a normal hobby. This is an attachment to objects that's become obsessive, by someone who is antisocial and extremely introverted. These people attach a part of themselves to their collection.”</p><p>“If you try to separate them from it or take it away from them, they will react violently, even psychotically,” Piper added.</p><p>“They've suffered damage to their prefrontal cortex,” Spencer explained from his perch next to her. “That's the part of the brain that regulates basic Freudian fantasy/reality. They can still function, like drive a car, go to work, even do their taxes.”</p><p>“In fact, she excels at goal-oriented jobs,” Emily continued. “Like the precision of sewing. Or the details of the abduction. But they've lost their ability to categorize the difference between living and dead, uh, belonging and loss. That has been irreparably destroyed.” A voice piped up among the crowd.</p><p>“So, what's she collecting, women?”</p><p>“Actually, we think she's collecting dolls. Technically, replacing them,” Rossi offered. “We believe that she lost the originals sometime within the last 3 months, and this is what served as her stressor. Women of different ethnicities but of similar physicality.”</p><p>“The drug-induced paralysis is part of the fantasy,” Derek added. “She puts her victims in a position where they can't talk back so she can fetishize them like the objects she's lost.”</p><p>“Um... Look,” the chief detective interrupted. “I respect your analysis, but this woman kidnapped 6 women and killed 3 of them. And you're telling us this is about dolls?”</p><p>“This unsub stitched a wig onto the scalp of her latest victim,” Derek countered. “It's a technique used to attach hair to porcelain dolls. And keep in mind, collectors and serial killers do share certain traits uh... a lot of serial killers take to, attaching the same significance to them that this collector does to objects.”</p><p>“It’s a common enough technique in child psychology too. Children attach stories to dolls, enact fantasies with them. It’s a phase that kids will grow out of by adolescence, but she never did. Something has to have happened in her life, a trigger that stunted her own development.” Piper’s voice was calm, melancholic as she explained, eyes never quite lifting high enough to meet anyone else's.</p><p>“This unsub's intent isn't violence,” Rossi contributed. “She needs this collection to be complete so she could feel in control of her life, probably to overcome some trauma she experienced. She really only feels that control when the collection is complete, which is why she's repeating an abduction pattern with living victims. If she loses a doll, or in this case, if she loses a woman who represents a doll, she has to replace it.”</p><p>“This woman works alone,” Hotch finished. “We know she has medical training. Look for nurse's aides or orderlies who we fired for a lack of social grace. She can't fake a bedside manner. We believe she's currently working as a tailor or a seamstress, and we're following those leads now. But do let us know If you notice any overlap in your suspect pools. Thank you.” The team withdrew into their work-space as the officers dispersed and JJ rushed over to them, a man following closely behind him.</p><p>“Hotch, this is Bethany Wallace's husband Karl. We brought him in for questioning for the 6<sup>th</sup> abduction.”</p><p>“Do you know where my wife is?”</p><p>“We're searching for her, sir.”</p><p>“No. You have to find her in the next 24 hours. Bethany is diabetic.” Hotch glanced over at Rossi and he recognised panic set in the chief’s face and while Spencer and Piper raced outside to call a consulting doctor, Derek and Emily watched them outside talking intensely, gravity etched in their face, oblivious to JJ taking Karl to a different room. They burst inside, words falling out in a coherent panic.</p><p>“Doctor said one of two things could happen,” Piper blurted.</p><p>“A, Diabetics metabolize everything they consume differently— Food, drinks, drugs,” Spencer listed, breathless. “It all gets broken down to blood sugar at varying rates. Most likely, this patient seized up minutes after she was medicated. So, she's already dead.”</p><p>“Or B,” Piper pointed out. “Bethany's condition could break down the drugs faster than the other victims. She could regain control of her body.”</p><p>“Thing is, if she was already dead, her body would’ve turned up soon.”</p><p>“So, every hour that she doesn't turn up is a reason for hope,” Emily concluded.</p><p>“But we're still running out of time,” Derek added. “If the drugs don't kill Bethany, she's not gonna last long without insulin.”</p><p>“We need to find the original dolls,” Emily said before the three of them clutched their ears as Derek yelled for Hotch, Rossi and JJ. At hyper-speed, Spencer recapped everything for the three agents until JJ looked up.</p><p>“Wait, how old is our unsub?”</p><p>“She’s targeting women in their mid-to-late 20s,” Emily replied. “Suggests she’s the same age, why?”</p><p>“That means she was born in the mid-to-late 80s, right?” Piper snapped to attention.</p><p>“Must have been pre-pubescent in the early 90s, JJ, you genius.” A grin spread on Piper’s face.</p><p>“So?” Emily looked between the girls as lost as the boys were.</p><p>“The only dolls most girls cared about then, the most popular dolls, they were all infants,” Piper explained while JJ made a call to Garcia.</p><p>“Garcia, we need a doll line that fits chiffon dresses, crosses racial lines, popular in the late 80s to early 90s.”</p><p><em>“Working on it.”</em> But something wasn’t quite fitting, Piper thought as she paced, waiting. Chiffon was very specific, too specific.</p><p>“Who uses chiffon dresses on dolls?” She muttered, moving over to the picture board. Emily glided over to her, an arm floating to Piper’s shoulder.</p><p>“Everything okay?”</p><p>“No. Have you ever seen a doll with a chiffon dress?” Emily’s face became as perplexed as hers.</p><p>
  <em>“Sorry, gals and gorillas. I’ve got nada.”</em>
</p><p>“Because no doll company uses chiffon dresses, the material’s too expensive for mass manufacturing.” Piper’s gears whirred as she shook out her hand. “JJ, can I have a look at that dress fabric?” The others stared at Piper turning over the fabric. “This isn’t mass-produced fabric,” she said dully.</p><p>“Yeah, Piper, we know,” Rossi said slowly, making his way over to place a warm hand on her arm. “Listen, I think you need a lie-down.”</p><p>“No, you’re not listening to me.” Her tone was insistent. “This isn’t mass-produced fabric.”</p><p>“We know that, Bishop. She tailored these to fit the women perfectly.” Piper sighed, ripping an arm away from Rossi before standing on a chair.</p><p>“No, I mean, if this isn’t mass-produced fabric, and if those women are perfect replicas of the dolls she used to have as a child—”</p><p>“The actual dolls are original,” Spencer said, standing up. “How do we track her down then?” Piper froze, only moving her finger to tap at her upper lip.</p><p>“Well, she can get the fabric from anywhere,” Hotch announced, “but where would she get the doll itself from?” Derek stood up and addressed Garcia.</p><p>“Hey, baby girl, you still there?”</p><p>“<em>Always for you, sugar.”</em></p><p>“Look for any local doll companies that had a make-your-own doll contest. Same time period.” The group stared at him as he looked back up from the speaker. “I may have helped Sarah out when we were younger with one.”</p><p>“<em>I got one hit. Valois Company. Oh, and it kinda looks good.</em> <em>They promoted feminism and multiculturalism. Strong, independent girls from different backgrounds who could still be friends. Birth certificate to fill out. A form to describe their lives. And a kit to sew your own clothes.”</em></p><p>“What did they have to do?” Emily asked.</p><p><em>“It was to see who could come up with the most imaginative doll. Sew a dress. Write an essay to describe her. If you won the contest, you'd have your doll featured in next year's line. Cool offer."</em> Piper, Spencer and Rossi groaned simultaneously. <em>“What? I miss something?”</em></p><p>“This happens every time,” Rossi grumbled.</p><p>“Is someone going to explain what’s happening?” Emily asked again, glancing between the trio.</p><p>“It never bodes well,” Spencer half-explained, collapsing back into his seat.</p><p>“It’s a classic psychologist tool," Piper continued. "Kids can disassociate the trauma from themselves if they use a doll. So, they project their own trauma onto the dolls they've made.” Emily nodded slowly as Garcia added.</p><p>
  <em>“When the company got essays with thinly-veiled references to physical or sexual abuse, they turned the entry forms and the dolls over to the police. The publicity killed the line.” </em>
</p><p>“The company was local, right? They might still have the clothes in evidence,” Hotch suggested as he and Rossi left to alert the police officers.</p><hr/><p>The team divided the load. Emily and JJ went through dress after dress while Piper and Derek read through the essays. Spencer slid cups of coffee over to everyone except Piper. “Hey, where’s my cup?”</p><p>“You’ve had 11 in the past 4 hours. Trust me, I’m doing you a favour.” Piper grumbled as she kept reading. “How are the essays going?”</p><p>“The syntax is driving me nuts. I mean, these kids are ten, they should know where a comma goes,” she muttered bitterly.</p><p>“It’s pretty depressing,” Derek confessed, kicking Piper in the shin. “The subtlety of it makes it worse. But uh, Prentiss is having fun over there.” They popped their heads over with the exception of Piper who kept going with the essays.</p><p>“These dolls are all like little time capsules, only the 80s fashion wasn't so kind to them. I'm surprised how many little girls knew how to make shoulder pads.”</p><p>“Maybe they all had their own ‘Derek Morgan’ to help them. What do you think, Der? Wanna teach me how to make shoulder pads?” Piper smirked from her seat, putting down the essay she was reading in lieu of another.</p><p>“Do not antagonise me when I have hot coffee in my hand, Bishop. It won’t end well.” Piper grinned before poking out her tongue at him. “How’s it going on your end?”</p><p>“Hotch gave me a list of vendors the victims went to. Tailors, seamstresses, other stuff. Wanted me to look over it with the profile.”</p><p>“Hey, guys.” JJ’s voice piped up from behind the screen. “That hem looks exactly like what she sews for her victims.”</p><p>“What’s the name of the entry?” Derek asked, interested.</p><p>“Samantha Malcolm.”</p><p>“I’ve got her on my list.”</p><p>“And I’ve got her entry,” Piper said. Her voice was quiet. “Sally doesn’t like the room with the lightning.” She gingerly placed the article down as they rushed over to the conference room to get Garcia.</p><p>“<em>Kay, I’ve got her medical records, and this kid was doomed. Like Emily Bronte doomed, like Shakespeare doomed, like red-shirted ensign in ‘Star Trek’ doomed. </em></p><p>“Garcia, what happened to her?” Hotch asked, ignoring the agent pacing behind him.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, uh sorry, uh, well, for the first 10 years, nothing, and then she started a battery of electroshock treatments.”</em>
</p><p>“She was 10!” Piper exclaimed as Spencer stopped pacing. “Who subjects a child to ECT?”</p><p>
  <em>“That would be her father, Dr Arthur Malcolm.”</em>
</p><p>“Of course.” Piper sighed, slumping down into her seat.</p><p>
  <em>“He runs an inpatient mental health facility for troubled young people called New Lives. At first, the essay that Samantha wrote raised some flags, but her father explained that the therapy was to deal with the recent death of her mother. After that, he started her on a serious regimen of antipsychotic drugs, which he weaned her off of a few years ago.”</em>
</p><p>“It explains her familiarity with medication,” Hotch thought aloud. “Where is she now?”</p><p>
  <em>“Uh, her father declared her incompetent, so he's still the legal guardian. Everything is in his name. And all of her records list New Lives as her residence.”</em>
</p><p>“She couldn't keep victims in an inpatient facility,” Derek said. “She needs privacy.”</p><p>“Garcia, what about real estate holdings in her father's name?”</p><p>
  <em>“Just his own. But New Lives has a bunch of outpatient and halfway houses all over town.”</em>
</p><p>“Reid, where does she work?”</p><p>“I have her placed at 3 different shops around town.”</p><p>“All right let's split up and cover the shops and the facility. Piper?”</p><p>“I’m benched?” She grinned sardonically at Hotch’s apologetic face. “Look, let me at least check out this Dr Malcolm. He might give us a lead.”</p><p>“Me too,” Spencer added. “Whether or not she's there, I want to talk to the father. There are literally hundreds of therapies to help kids through loss. Electroshock is not one of them.” Hotch looked at the two of them.</p><p>“Fine. Best behaviour. Both of you.” Piper tossed two finger guns at him after shouldering her bag and Hotch just shook his head as the two of them backed out.</p><hr/><p>Piper sat in the passenger side, flicking through Dr Malcolm’s thesis while Spencer drove. Piper looked up, noticing his white knuckles. Carefully, she raised a hand to his and felt his grip on the wheel loosen. “Everything okay?”</p><p>“I should be asking you that.”</p><p>“You’ve asked me 13 times in the past 3 hours. Beyond that, I lost count. What’s up?”</p><p>“He’s a doctor. A child psychologist. How could he subject a child to ECT?” Spencer’s gaze never lifted off the road and hers didn’t lift from his face as she let go of his hand.</p><p>“Probably exactly that,” Piper sighed. “He didn’t see her as a child. You didn’t read that essay. And I couldn’t read it out completely.” Slumping in her seat, Piper closed her eyes as she faced the roof of the car. “We’ll get him,” she breathed out, more for herself than Spencer. “We’ll nail him. We have to.”</p><hr/><p>“Forgive me if I don’t completely understand. What does this have to do with Samantha?”</p><p>“We just want to ask her a couple of questions,” Piper said, smiling broadly at the doctor while Spencer paced the room, glancing at toys placed around the office. “Is she here?”</p><p>“No, she’s at work.”</p><p>“I see. I guess we’d just have to come back later. Do you have an address for her? Here, or maybe at a halfway house that we could see? We’ll need it.”</p><p>“And I’ll need to know what this is about.”</p><p>“Just some routine questions. We’re asking every seamstress in the area.”</p><p>“My daughter works as a nurse, she’s no seamstress.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Dr Malcolm.” Piper kept a grin plastered on her face as she crossed a leg over her knee. “We know about the Valois contest. She could be tied to those abductions. You have heard about them, haven’t you?”</p><p>“Well, yes, and like I said—”</p><p>“Is Samantha on her own at this house?” Piper tilted her head at him. “There are no other patients, right?”</p><p>“Yes, but she thought that was best, and I agreed.”</p><p>“Yeah, but let's face it—” Piper leaned forward. “You're happy that she's out of your hair.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Oh c’mon. A mentally incompetent child. I meant, no wonder you pushed her off. I can’t imagine how I’d have handled it.” Spencer stopped pacing, keeping a trained gaze on the doctors next to the large dollhouse.</p><p>“Samantha has always been troubled,” he admitted, “but I have always—” The smile melted off Piper’s face as she leaned back in her chair.</p><p>“3 women are dead,” she said simply.</p><p>“That has nothing to do with Samantha, that’s not my daughter.”</p><p>“You haven’t been much of a father in a long time, Dr Malcolm. When’s the last time she saw you? Hugged you? Called you Daddy?”</p><p>“Now that is uncalled for.”</p><p>“No, I’ll tell you what was uncalled for.” Piper stood, hands on the desk to lean over the doctor. “Electroshock treatment given to a child.”</p><p>“My wife died when Samantha was 10,” he exclaimed, standing up.</p><p>“No external supervision either,” Piper interrupted, straightening. “Why not hand her over to another psychiatrist, Doctor? Or were you afraid of what she might tell them?”</p><p>“I tried everything,” he yelled. “Child psychiatry, pet therapy, nothing helped. She was cutting herself. She was in pain. That's the end of this meeting.”</p><p>“Where’s your daughter, Doctor?” Piper prodded as Spencer moved behind her to Dr Malcolm’s shelf, reaching to caress a plush unicorn.</p><p>“More to the point, Agent Bishop, if you try to talk to her, a mentally ill woman, without her knowing what she's doing— and have no medical or legal counsel present, you'll have no case. Do you understand me? None,” the doctor maintained, pulling his white coat closer as Piper scoffed.</p><p>“Sorry,” Spencer interrupted. “Really quick question. Why are these toys here?”</p><p>“I use them in my therapy.”</p><p>“No, I understand that, but why are they way up on this shelf, away from where any kids can actually reach them?”</p><p>“They're reminders of patients that I've helped.”</p><p>“Let me ask you something. What was the name of the girl you helped with this one?” He set a plush unicorn on the desk.</p><p>“Jenny Larson.”</p><p>“And this one?” He placed a plush lion on the table next while Piper smirked in front of him.</p><p>“Abigail Moore.”</p><p>“What about this one?” Spencer asked again, his face colder than Piper had ever seen before.</p><p>“Linda Krauss.”</p><p>“These girls are what, they're like 9 or 12 years old, I'm assuming?”</p><p>“My PhD. Is on the effect of trauma on prepubescent girls. I do not appreciate what you're implying.”</p><p>“Oh, we’re not implying anything,” Spencer remarked. “Here’s my little issue though.” Spencer kept his eyes trained on Dr Malcolm. “Electroshock therapy isn’t recommended for anyone whose prefrontal cortex is still growing and developing, isn’t that right, Doctor?” He looked up at Piper, defrosting just a little as she grinned enthusiastically. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the APA strictly deauthorised it in 2003, based on that inference, I developed a little hypothesis.” Spencer straightened, addressing Piper. “Correct me if the science isn’t sound, Doctor.”</p><p>“By all means, Doctor,” Piper grinned.</p><p>“My hypothesis here is that after you raped your daughter, you submitted her to electroshock treatment to make sure she stayed quiet.”</p><p>“This is outrageous,” Dr Malcolm protested.</p><p>“And then,” Spencer continued, “out of guilt, you bought her toys, more specifically, you bought her a line of dolls. Because that's what serial molesters do. They give gifts. So, you continued the pattern with your other patients, and once they left your care, you added their toys to your collection.”</p><p>“I'm sorry, you can't back up your story, Doctor,” Dr Malcolm said and Piper recognised a flicker of fear in his eyes.</p><p>“This is why I love my job, Doctor. Because my lab, it's a jury of your peers. My tests will be Jenny Larson, Abigail Moore, and Linda Krauss. The DA will put them on the stand, and I'm going to personally bring these dolls in, and we're going to watch how they react.”</p><p>“Of course, the beauty of any experiment is that the verdict is always 50/50 in comparison to the hypothesis in the beginning,” Piper mused in thought. “I mean, for the sake of your career, you should hope that it tilts your way. Won’t do any good if the odds are stacked against you.”</p><p>“What with Samantha’s essay.”</p><p>“A review by the Psychological Association.”</p><p>“Don’t forget the court-appointed psychiatrists,” Spencer reminded her and she beamed.</p><p>“Right, of course. And no experiment is complete without a prediction of the results. Do you mind, Dr Reid?”</p><p>“Not at all, Dr Bishop.”</p><p>“I’d imagine the board would call for your title to be stripped, New Lives would be entirely dissolved, not to mention the sentence for child molestation and hindering a federal investigation as well as the sexual offender’s registration. Wouldn’t be able to work with children at all. I wonder what happens to a child psychologist who legally can’t be within 50 ft of a child. How big is this office?”</p><p>“Or you could tell us where your daughter is, and we'll tell the DA you cooperated. But once we walk out this door, that deal comes off the table.” Dr Malcolm hung his head resignedly, blue eyes sagging.</p><p>“5259 Adams Street.”</p><p>“Much obliged,” Piper said, beaming cynically.</p><p>“You’ll tell them, right?” he asked, stopping the agents in their tracks. “That I cooperated.” Piper met Spencer’s eyes, still cold as he turned to Dr Malcolm.</p><p>“Sure. They’ll knock off the charge for obstruction of justice if you’re lucky.”</p><p>“Yeah, I wouldn’t stress about it. I heard prison treats child molesters great,” Piper added. They walked back to the SUV and Piper started the car as Spencer texted for backup. “We’re the closest to the scene.”</p><p>“Piper, you don’t have to—”</p><p>“I’ll wait by the side entrance. She won’t get spooked if it’s just you. Our priority is Bethany, as soon as Samantha’s clear, I’ll signal for the ambulance to take her first. We’re gonna have to walk Samantha through the process and why are you staring at me?” She didn’t take her eyes off the road as she pulled into free lanes to dodge through traffic.</p><p>“You miss your bike, don’t you?” Piper grinned.</p><p>“I do, yeah. Traffic makes me anxious,” she managed simply. Spencer rested a hand on her thigh, assuring her that they’d get there and distracting her by making her list stuff about her bike.</p><hr/><p>Piper took her spot outside as Spencer slowly sidled through the staff entrance towards the faint sounds of a voice. It was small, pitiful, like that of a 12-year-old crying out in a tragic whisper. “Don’t leave me.”</p><p>“Samantha?” He kept his voice low as though approaching a timid deer as he approached Samantha. No, he noted, this was no killer. This was a child, a wronged, tragic, empty child who found life in a tea party. He caught sight of the three porcelain-like women, two with wide eyes, one limp in her seat. Not dead, he hoped, not dead. “Hi!” Spencer kept his voice cheerful, but not overwhelmingly bright as he walked, palms up. “My name’s Spencer, I’m with the FBI.” He inched closer, praying he wouldn’t have to call Piper in, but as he gazed into Samantha’s eyes, he realised he wouldn’t have to. “I know what your father did to you, and I want you to know that he can never, ever hurt you again.”</p><p>“He never touched me. He's a good father. He loves me.” Spencer’s heart broke at her small, rapid statements, no doubt ingrained by the room with the lightning.</p><p>“I know that he probably forced you to say those things, and he punished you if you got it wrong, sent you to the room with the lightning.” Samantha nodded; her hand gripped around metal scissors. “The dolls that your father gave you after he hurt you, what would happen to them?”</p><p>“He kept them in his office with the other toys.”</p><p>“That's where he let you play with them?”</p><p>“But when I moved out, I had to take my friends with me. I couldn't leave them behind.” Spencer kept inching forward, as did Samantha, training his eyes on her as Piper darted from behind to sneak Bethany Wallace.</p><p>“Of course. And so, you went to get them. What—what did you find?” But Samantha just let out a sob as Spencer watched Piper take Bethany out, no doubt to her husband and the ambulance waiting outside. “He’d given them away, hadn’t he?” He kept his voice gentle as he noticed Derek’s body tucked into a corner behind a curtain, inching towards the tea-table. “Do you want them back?”</p><p>“He- He said I couldn’t. He said they were gone for good.” Spencer turned to the side slowly, dragging a little suitcase with him so Samantha turned her back to Derek. Samantha wasn’t more than a few feet from him.</p><p>“He lied. He's been lying to you for a long time. Do you want to see them?” Spencer offered as Derek carefully pulled the IV out of Maxine before lifting her body, disappearing behind a curtain with her in tow.</p><p>“Can I?” Her voice was horribly small and there was only one victim left. Spencer offered the suitcase over, waiting until she was completely distracted before calling in the medics. He watched Samantha turn over her dolls, clasping them to her bosom as though she would never let them go, the chief detective gently moving towards them. Piper oversaw the medics moving the last victim outside, ears pricking up as Spencer’s smooth, soft voice floated over.</p><p>“Hey, Samantha? Listen. You need to go with these men, but your friends can go with you, okay?”</p><p>“They won't take-- they won't take them away?” Samantha’s doleful gaze met Spencer’s kind eyes.</p><p>“I promise no one will ever take them away again.” Spencer watched the young woman leave with the suitcase in hand as he felt a warm hand slip into his, shifting his gaze onto Piper next to him, lacing his own fingers into hers. He barely heard the words she breathed out to him, soft in the kerfuffle around him.</p><p>“I’m proud of you.”</p><p>It played over and over in his head even after her hand left his, after her head left his shoulder in the jet until he found himself in that old park, his feet already knowing the path well worn, catching sight of Christopher playing chess alone, as usual. “Checkmate in 12.” His old friend just laughed him off.</p><p>“No way.” A glint appeared in Spencer’s warm eyes as he took a seat, facing a board he hadn’t faced in a long time.</p><p>“Let me show you.”</p>
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